The Boy Who Lived
by Nightwitch87
Summary: After Lord Voldemort is destroyed, the entire purpose of Harry's existence is suddenly wiped out. How will he react to it? Post Book 7.


**The Last Horcrux**

'Harry? Come on, it's late. I need to be at the Prophet soon, and James has to be dropped off at Mum's. Harry!'

He didn't even bother to look up. Her words, her tone, they weren't new to him. She wanted of him, demanded of him, always hoping, always trying to coax. It wasn't unreasonable, really. She wanted of him what every person would ask of their partner – responsiveness, presence, responsibility. _Normal_ things. How pathetic, that he of all people, the 'great' Harry Potter, the man who had defeated Lord Voldemort, was not able to fulfil this small duty.

'You sure you don't want any tea? There's still some left in the kitchen…'

He could feel her gaze on him, although her voice seemed far away. Every word arrived with a small delay, benumbed like an echo. Tea.

'Harry….please.'

If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was her pleading. Look at her, that's what he must do. Talk to her. He turned his head with the greatest effort, focusing on her concerned expression.

She crouched down next to the chair, brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and forced a smile. 'Please go to work today. I can't make excuses for you forever. Think of how happy everyone will be to see you! It's no good, staying inside like this, brooding forever. You'll feel better once you go out, I'm sure. And you're dressed and all set to go, anyway, you might as well-'

'Why? To talk to another group of students, who are just waiting to hear 'thetrue story', a backstage insight into what _really_ happened? How exciting, how heroic, a change from the dull classes! As if they could learn anything from it!'

'Harry, it matters!' His wife's lips were pressed together, forming a thin line. It was strange how much she suddenly resembled her mother when she had that look on her face. 'These things _have_ to be remembered, you don't want history to repeat itself, do you?'

'Then why not just read Hermione's book?' he snapped. 'Gives them every little detail. I never wanted to be a lecturer, Ginny. Travelling around, talking at schools, teaching aurors – it's not…' There were no words for it, no way he could make it clear to her.

'…not what you wanted to do, I know. But you didn't want to be an auror yourself, either, or anything else. Maybe you should find something else to do. Maybe it's time' she suggested carefully. 'The ministry offered you a position more than once.'

'I don't want to work for the ministry.'

Ginny sighed and moved away from him to make the bed. 'Then what _do_ you want to do?'

He didn't answer, but merely watched her hitting the pillows into shape with a tad more force than needed. She looked so driven, even when she did little things like that. Or maybe just angry. He knew he was letting her down, letting his son down, letting everyone down. It wasn't fair of him. Ginny had been through the same things, had seen it all, lost family in the war. However she managed to just get up every morning and do what she had to do, he didn't know.

'Honestly, Harry, there has to be something! You've got so many opportunities, so many people who would beg you to work for them.'

'It's not that.' He was struggling to find the right words. 'Telling people about it...you should see these boys and girls, they're fascinated by it. They don't understand what it's really like. All that death, and the hopelessness of it. And for what? Hunting Voldemort, escaping, hunting, how it goes on and on…hunting Voldemort, being Voldemort.' The tight feeling in his stomach came back when he told her, like the feeling back then. 'And now it's over, all over, I'm done. That's it. What difference does it make if-'

He broke off rapidly when he saw her expression, before he said something he shouldn't have, before he finished the thought. She was studying him with an aghast look, so intently that it was impossible for him to break the eye contact. No tears, no rage, only deep disappointment. Her hands let go of the sheets. 'If you die?'

The way she said it, it sounded very rational, almost clinical. She turned the idea into something real, something ridiculous. It made him feel ashamed, provided him with the urge to belittle it, shrug it off. But it was too late, the words were out there; it had been said and sprung to life through it.

'If you think so, maybe you should go.' Her voice was barely above a whisper. 'If we aren't worth it to you-'

'I didn't mean it that way!' He got up from his chair and approached her, hoping to set it right, but one look from her stopped him in his tracks. 'I didn't mean-'

'Yes, you did! I can't believe you'd- even when you're with James! Even with your one-year-old son! He needs you, and so does Teddy. If it were just with me…'

'What are you talking about?' The hurt in her voice was obvious, but what had he done, besides what had been expected of him?

'You're living in the past, Harry! Everything here is always so small, so unimportant. Work, family, nothing matters, because if it's not about Death Eaters, it obviously has no meaning!' Her eyes were sparkling with tears of fury. 'And I'm so trivial, because I dare to care about things like how to sell an article against anti-muggle sentiments, what to cook, how to support _our_ son's magical development, which books to buy Teddy, how to thank my mother for watching James three to four times a week...I'm trivial!'

'I never said that!' How could she just make up things like that? She was always twisting his words around, or reading things into a situation that weren't there. It was driving him crazy. 'But I guess if I don't care, I might as well not go to work, not prepare dinner while you're working till late, not read James bedtime stories, and certainly not invite Teddy over to stay every weekend!'

'You're never here! In the literal sense, maybe' she added quickly, seeing his protest 'but that's it. You're never _really_ here. Even when you're playing with the boys, you're always somewhere else.'

He wanted to defend himself, explain everything, make her understand him, but the words wouldn't come. The closeness they had once shared wasn't there anymore, and he wasn't even sure if it had ever existed. A deep relationship, or just teenage love perpetuated by all they had been through, who could really tell the difference anymore? What he knew was that he was alone. He'd always been alone in what he had to do, and he was alone in living with what he had done. And sometimes, it was just too much. She wouldn't understand. 'I'm trying, all right? You've got no idea how hard I'm trying-'

'Oh, that's rich! Don't you think I know how hard it can be? I was _there_, Harry! What do you think I see when I close my eyes at night? You're not the only one in this world who's suffered, and lost, and grieved…' Her voice failed her at last, her throat too choked up by silent tears. 'And the…the injustice of it.'

'Ginny.' He reached out quietly, took her hand and pulled her closer. Her forehead came to rest against his shoulder, but their bodies didn't touch. They stood in silence, her hand in his, the smell of her hair in his nose. Herbs on a meadow. It was all that was possible. 'I'm sorry. I just don't know- I'm sorry.'

'You can't let it win' she muttered into his robes. 'If you do, he's won. And I can't always make up for it. I can't live like this.'

It was no question, no order, but definitely a statement. A statement he had nothing to reply to. Fortunately, he was spared the duty of false promises by the sound of a toddler's crying. Ginny's head shot up, alert to the sign that her son had woken up.

He stopped her. 'I'll go.'

He went. She stayed.


End file.
